


"In a Most Auspicious Manner"

by TheAllAmericanNordic



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 5+1 Things, All the Newsies basically make a cameo, Attempted Murder, Brooklyn Newsies - Freeform, Chloroform, Crime, Davey Centric, Davey is Jack's 3rd, Davey is book smart, Davey is smart but there are different types of intelligences, Davey just wants to help people and it gets him in trouble more times than not, Davey my poor sweet summer child, HC: After the strike inter-borough relations improved buts its still kinda rocky, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Race is Jack's 2nd, Romeo has a really sad origin story and i'm sorry, Slang, losing consciousness, the Jacobs were a mid-middle class family until their father got laid off, the Newsies are street smart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAllAmericanNordic/pseuds/TheAllAmericanNordic
Summary: David liked to consider himself well educated. He was fortunate enough to have gone to have gone to school for most of his life, and had constantly placed at the top of his class.School, however, did not prepare him for this(Or: 5 times Davey doesn't understand lower class slang, and the one time the Newsies didn't understand middle class slang)





	1. Flashmen

For the first time, in what seemed like weeks, the headline was unexpectedly good.

After weeks of lousy headlines (Davey’s personal ‘favorite’ being “Central Park Visitor Numbers Reaching Record Highs Due to Growing Population”, because none of them could figure out why Pulitzer decided that would be a good story to publish) and straining profits, having a good headline was a relief among the newsies.

After buying 70 papers for him, and 30 for Les, they headed towards Canal Street, a place rapidly becoming their usual due to their now regulars and little competition. As soon as they got there, both he and Les quickly started hawking the headline, with many people on their way to work stopping to purchase the paper. 

Soon, the crowd drizzled down to a fraction of what it was before, and he and Les stopped for a break, both having sold about half of their total papers. However, the crowd soon started exponentially growing, signaling the end of their break. 

“Extra! Extra! Night Attack on Ladysmith by Boers Expected! War brewing in South Africa!” Davey shouted over the low rumble of the crowd passing him and Les on the sidewalk. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed several women cooing over Les as he told them the headline and a couple of the other stories they could read, as several other regulars gave him pennies for the paper.

The lunch rush, plus the exciting headline, caused selling to go quickly, and soon, both he and Les sold their last paper, concluding yet another day of selling. Davey quickly grabbed Les’ arm and dragged over to the steps of a nearby building that was generally spared the foot traffic of the crowd. 

“Davey, you wouldn’ even believe it! I got a whole quarter from some lady just now! Told me to buy somethin’ sweet with it.” Les exclaimed, giving him a cheeky grin and holding up said coin. Davey smiled and ruffled Les’ hair as he pouted at the action. 

“Good job Les! Now c’mon, Jack told us to meet him at Jacobi’s after we finished u-“ Davey paused midsentence, noticing a young kid, appearing to be no older than Les and some of the younger boys at the lodging house, snagging a rolled up object out of an older man’s bag before dashing and disappearing into the ever expanding crowd. Davey frowned and contemplated what he just saw. Yes: pick-pocketing was a common occurrence in the city, it had never happened to Davey, but it was common nonetheless. 

“-avey! Davey!” Les shock his arm. “c’mon, you just said we’s meeting Jack, lets go!” 

“Did you see that? Davey asked. Pointing towards the man, who ignorantly continued negotiating with the street vendor, not noticing he was missing possessions.

Les looked over to where Davey was pointing and frowned. “See what?” he asked, but almost immediately brushed off Davey’s question and pulled on his arm once more. “c’mon, forget about’it you said Jack is waiting, can we just go!”

Davey looked at Les pulling on the sleeve of his shirt, then back at the man who was now missing, quite possible, a valuable. And in that moment, made a split second decision.

“Hold on a sec, just wait here.” Davey told him, and lightly shoved past him. Les made a noise of objection, but Davey ignored it and instead opted towards walking up to the man who he’d just seen get pickpocketed, who was now yelling at the vendor. Davey cautiously reached out and tapped the man’s shoulder, and nearly feel over in shock when the man whipped around to face him. 

The man had a crooked nose, thinning hair covering his scar marred head, and beady little eyes. His hands instantly flew to the bag thrown securely over his shoulder, and before Davey could even say anything, his annoyed expression quickly morphed into an angry one when he noticed that he was missing an object. 

“E-excuse me sir, I just wanted to-“ Davey started to say, but was quickly cut off when the man’s hands flew to the collar of his vest, pulling him uncomfortably close to the man, so close he could smell the stench of alcohol radiating off of his persona. Davey raised his hands in defense as the man began to shout in his face.

“An’ who do you’s think you is, ya filthy street rat!? Some wannabe flashmen? Uh?” the man demanded, a thick Brooklyn accent shinning through the rough words.

Davey was unfamiliar with the term Flashmen. However after selling and hanging around newsies for several months, he had begun to notice an almost separate language among the newsies and other lower-class people. In some cases, the language difference was so drastic that there were many newsies that Davey couldn’t communicate with, due to the language barrier. Regardless of however many times Jack assured him that they were in fact speaking English, Davey was only able to convey simple messages and questions to them, before the language barrier once again ceased his understanding of his fellow newsie. In rare cases, Davey couldn’t even understand several of his friends with, including Race, Specs, and even Jack in some cases. He was slowly picking up on the newsies’ slang, however he was far from fluent, and it was during moments like these that he regretted that he wasn’t picking it up quicker. With the man’s face inches from his own, and his ever-tightening grip on his vest, Davey could do nothing but assume that ‘Flashmen’ was Brooklyn slang for a Newsie, based on his appearance and his paper bag. Davey quickly nodded his head and stammered out.

“Y-yes, I just wanted to tel-“ but Davey was once again cut off by the man’s enraged yell, as the man got even more in Davey’s personal space, one of his hand tightly fisting his shirt, the other hand raising behind him in a more than threatening manner. Davey’s hands flew up on instinct in an attempt to block the punches that would be surely be coming sooner rather then later. 

“ So you’s thinks you’s just gonna get awa’ wit’ p--“ but this time, the man’s sentence was unexpectedly cut off by a sharp yelp coming from the man. His hands flying to his neck, where an ever-increasing red blotch was blossoming under his jawline.

Davey staggered backward, no longer being held up by the man, just as a newsie he recognized, Kid Blink, rushed between him and the man carrying Les. Before he could even process what to do now that he was free from the mans tight grasp, Finch rushed towards him, slingshot in hand, and grabbed his wrist. Finch pulled him in the direction that Les and Blink went, leaving behind the spluttering man, who was throwing more then a couple nasty curses at the retreating pair. 

Eventually he and Finch caught up to Les and Blink, and together they all continued running towards the lodging house. They did not stop until they were collapsing onto the nearest bunk on the second floor of the house, which was surprising unoccupied considering the time of day.

Struggling to catch his breath, Finch asked him “Wha-What da hell’s wr-wrong wit ya Davey? I thoughts you’s was supposed to be the smar’ one” 

Exasperated and out of breath, Davey shot back “What’d you expect me to do? I wasn’t my fault he grabbed my-“

“He doesn’t mean that, stupid!” Blink interrupted. “He means admitting you’s was a flashmen. Are ya trying to get soaked?”

Realizing the reason why the two were shooting him looks of exasperation and confusion. Davey defensively raised his hands and said “I don’ even know what a Flashmen is! So don’ blame me for this!”

Quickly, their expressions morphed from confused exasperation, to a blank deadpan. And then, slowly, Finch drawled out “Are ya stupid Davey? A flashmen is a pick-pocketer. You jus’ admitted to picking that guys pockets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, this is one of my first fics, so please leave feedback and constructive criticism! Also I don't have a Beta, so please excuse any minor typos i might have missed, or point out any major ones.
> 
> Also for future chapters I have taken some artistic liberty with a couple of the slang terms, so please do read the end notes for the correct definitions!
> 
> Flashmen: A pick pocketter


	2. Guttersnipe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Davey, my poor sweet summer child........

Davey lightly chuckled as some of the younger newsies yelled at Race, as he delt out what was probably the 7th hand of blackjack in the past hour. 6 of which had been dominated by the gambler himself, with Finch being the only other victor. 

The headline that day had been, well, less then ideal. A stereotypical headline calling out the injustices of the American government, a headline that had reached its captivating limits long before he, or any of the current newsies for that matter, had started selling. After only barely managing to sell the last of their papes, Davey dropped Les off at home, as per request of his mother earlier that morning. With the rest of the day free, and no current responsibilities elsewhere, Davey had been roped into one of Race’s card games not one minute after he stepped foot in the Lodging House.

Davey sighed in a mixture of exasperation, frustration, and amusement as Race won not only another round, but for the 5th time in a row. Davey leaned back onto the lumpy mattress of one of the bunks they had pulled together to accommodate all those wanting to playing. Opting instead to sit out the next game, and laugh alongside his fellow newsies when Race pulled yet another win out of his well worn hat. 

“’Ay Davey, get out her’” Davey heard Jack call as Race was dealing out yet another hand. Davey picked himself up off of the surprisingly comfortable position he had found himself in, much to the displeasure of several of the younger newsies that he had been blatantly helping.

Davey made his way to the open window, and out onto the balcony, where he found Jack fiddling with his paper and pencils, drawing one of the windows across the street.

“What’s going on Jack?” he asked, sitting next to his friend as Jack continued to draw.

“I mean’ to talk to ya about this earlier but it comple’ely slippe’ my mind. There’s an inter-borough meeting happin’ in a couple days, ands me and Racer needs to know if you’s can make it out there.” Jack said he scribbling on the paper some more, before appearing satisfied, and tucking the paper into one of his pockets. 

“This one’s in the Bronx, right?” Davey asked, shifting his position slightly as Jack stood up to carefully put away the growing collection of pencils he and several of the other newsies had managed to come across (steal) for him during that month.

“Yeah” muttered Jack as he returned to sitting with his back to the wall, as he was several seconds ago. “Skipper ain’t happy about somethin’ and wante’ to talk to the other borough leaders and whatnot.” 

“Thought so, yeah I can make it out there.” Davey responded, before shifting his eyes up to the quickly darkening sky. “Didn’ notice it was gettin’ so late, I better head out.” 

Jack made a noise of agreement, before standing, and helping Davey up. “Yeah thought so.” Jack teasingly mimicked Davey’s previous sentence and accent, which earned him a playful jab and smile. Davey lightly shoved past him as he made his way to the balcony ladder, giving Jack a mocking salute before climbing down. He was nearly to the street when Jack suddenly called down: “If you’s run into Specs and Romeo, send’em this way, won’t ya?”

“I’ll tell them you’re lookin’ for ‘em” Davey responded, trying and failing to hid his smile when he heard Jack scoff. His shoes hit the streets, and soon he was heading north towards 54th street, the street where his family was currently renting an apartment on. 

The streets we almost unnaturally silent and empty, seeing as the sun had just recently set. He quietly wondered if he had forgotten another holiday, seeing has there was minimal foot-traffic, and many shops where already closed or closing. 

As he continued heading north, traffic on the streets became busier, and he soon found himself waiting on a street corner waiting for the thick traffic on the streets to clear up before attempting to cross. He absentmindedly fiddled with the corner of his vest, where a loose thread was slowly starting to unravel from the previously flawless vest he had inherited from his father. 

Traffic was only just starting to clear up, when a heavy hand pressed down on his shoulder, shocking him slightly and causing him to turn to an old ragged looking old man who seemed to have materialized behind him. 

“What’s a youn’ guttersniper like ya’self-doing out her’ all by himself tonigh’? Uh? Ya headin’ anywhere kid?” the old man gruffly asked, his hand never leaving Davey’s shoulder.

Davey didn’t like being unable to understand slang terms in situations like these. For all he knew, ‘Guttersniper’ was a completly friendly term, referring to kids his age. Or maybe ‘Guttersniper’ was extremely offensive, and he should be offended. Ever since the ‘Flashmen” incident, the newsies (mainly Jack, Finch, Blink, and Race) had been trying to teach him some of the more common slang terms that were commonly used around the boroughs, if not to insure he didn’t embarrass himself at a future inter-borough meetings. However, the process was slow going, seeing as many of the slang terms used among the newsies and lower-class citizens followed little logic (Why were there 10 different ways to tell someone they better scram or they were going to be beat up?) and they seemed to come out of nowhere.

Apparently, Jack had yet to mention the term “Guttersniper’, leaving Davey fend for himself in a situation that could quickly go south if he didn’t play his words correctly. Praying that the term didn’t mean anything offensive or hint at the intention to cause harm to his person, Davey lightly shoved the man’s hand off of his shoulder and turned to answer the man.  
“Just up to 45th.” Davey lied, choosing to turn away after the short reply, hoping the man would catch the hint and leave it at that. However, the man continued to speak, regardless of Davey’s blatant disinterest in the conversation.

“It’s startin’ to get kinda chilly at night, ain’t it” the man rambled. Chilly? Davey supposed it was, but choose to remain silent, praying the street would clear up in the next couple of seconds. “It’s gonna start getting’ real hard on the folks with no where to go, don’t you agree, boy?”

Having had the question direct right at him, Davey could no longer consciously ignore the man, and opted to giving yet again a short, bland answer. “I suppose it is.”

At that moment, God answered his prayers, and the street started rapidly clearing up. Holding in a breath of relief, Davey slightly turned to tell the man it was “Nice talking to him”, however Davey barely managed to get out the first 2 syllables before his air was cut off by a sharp pull to his collar, and he was forcibly dragged backwards. Regardless of his attempts to free his windpipe and to get away, the man’s gripe remained steely. Soon, he was being thrown into one of the alleyways between 2 nameless buildings, his knees hitting the concrete quickly as oxygen rushed into his deprived lungs.

Just has he had recovered from his unexpected lack of oxygen, a thick, solid arm wrapped around his throat, once again cutting off his air supply. However, this time, the man held an old, damp rag to his nose and mouth, with a suspicious smell that made Davey’s head spin every time he involuntarily gasped for breath.

Regardless of the well-aimed kicks Davey aimed for the mans shins and feet, the sharp elbow jabs he slammed into the mans shocking sturdy chest, the man’s chokehold remained unyielding, with his vision starting to blur on the outskirts of his eyesight.

“I’m going to die” David’s mind screamed at him. “This man is going to kill you. You are never going to see your family again, you are never going to see Jack again, you are never going to see the other newsies again.”

David felt tears prickling the edges of his eyes as the pain in his chest became almost unbearable. His vision was almost gone, and David felt himself losing the final threads of his consciousness. “You will die if you fall asleep! YOU will die if you fall asleep! DON’T FALL ASLEEP!”

 

And then he was weightless.

 

For a single second he was free-falling, the man’s hold being unexpectedly been jerked away, and he was left falling. Unable to support himself with what little grasp on his consciousness that he had. 

Davey hit the concrete heavily, knocking what little air that he had, out of his lungs. As Davey laid still, nearly face first on the dirty concrete of the alleyway, struggling to regain his sense of breathing, he heard shouting. Then the sound of fist meeting skin, and the gruesome sound of a ‘crack’ resonating down the alleyway. Finally, the sound of footsteps scrambling, and despite Davey’s internal (and quite possible external) protest, he was flipped onto his back. The first thing he saw was Specs concerned face looking down on him, his lips moving, but no audible sound coming from him. 

Despite what had just happened, the near-death experience that had him repressing shivers down his spin, Davey remembered his promise to Jack before he left the Lodging house not half an hour earlier. And despite the burning feeling in his throat, he quietly mumbled:

“Jackie is looking for ya….”  
***  
When Davey wakes up, its morning, and someone is curled up against him. 

Slowly, Davey opened his eyes, only to close them again when the sunlight from the open window by his bed shines directly in his face. He raises his hands to his burning eyes, and tries to rub the pain away. Off to his side, he hears a low voice quietly curse, and soon the sound of an old, thin curtain being pulled on fills his ears and the light disappears.

He once again opens his eyes to find Romeo walking back over to the bunk next to his, before sitting down next to Specs. He looks down and see the sleeping form of Les curled up against him, quietly muttering under his breath has if experiencing a nightmare. Davey slowly smooths down the hair on his forehead in an attempt to sooth the nightmares away, and does so with mixed results. Davey groans and with his other hand rubs tries to rub away the pounding headache slowly manifesting, with no luck, before slowly turning to the pair and rasping out:

“Wha- What happened?” 

“It’s nice ta see ya up Davey.” Romeo says, as Specs turns to another nearby newsie and tells him to let Jack know Davey’s up. “You got quiet a soaking there, how ya feelin’?”

“I feel like Wiesel dropped an entire week’s edition on my head, but other then that, I pretty shitty.” Davey deadpans as another wave of nausea rolls through him. Romeo shoots Specs a look that Davey can’t distinguish, however Specs seems to understand, and picks up the conversation.

“I guess that’s to be expecte’..” Specs comments. “Do ya remembe’ anythin’?”

Davey racks his brain for an answer, and slowly pieces together a basic summary of what happened before he lost consciousness. “I was on my way back home, and some guy stopped me on 41st, called me something and started soaking me.” Davey mumbled, slightly embarrassed that he had been taken down so easily. He still hated fist fights, but he was a Manhattan newsie for God’s sake. 

Romeo and Specs exchanged another look, but this time turned to him Romeo slowly asked him: “Do you remembe’ what he calle’ ya?”

Shifting through the hazy memories of the soaking, Davey can surprisingly distinctly remember the slang term the man had called him, before his memories start to get spotty. Davey slowly nodded his head and lowly said “Yeah, calle’ me a Guttersniper.” Romeo visibly paled, while Spec quietly cursed under his breath and looked away. Davey frowned and just mumbled “That bad, eh?”

Romeo shallowly nodded, while Specs turned to face Davey once again. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad Davey. Look, if anyone ever calls ya that ever again, you get your ass otta there, got it? People likes them are merciless, ya hear?’

Davey silent nodded, but sincerely asked “You gonna tell me a reason, or am I just suppose to trust ya on this one?” 

Romeo, although still pale, bitterly smiled, while Specs wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. “Maybe we’ll tell ya another time Davey, but trus’ me on this one. They’s all no good, and we don’t wanna lose another Newsie to ‘em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Chapter 2 is out!  
> Just a couple really important notes:  
> I don't have a Beta so please excuse minor typos
> 
> ALSO: The definition of Guttersnipe:  
>  its not entirely clear in the chapter, and that was done on purpose.  
> -the actual definition of Guttersnipe is "A Homeless Person" So I did take a lot of artistic liberty in this chapter.
> 
> my story definition: Basically a Guttersnipe is a homeless?Lower-class kid, or even adult, who no one would miss if they were to disappear. So Being called a Guttersnipe is NOT a good thing in this universe, even more so then usual. Basically the old man was apart of a gang or basically cult who believes that the lower class are scum of the earth, and this its their duty to "deal with them". Whether that means kidnapping or full out murder, depends on the person.  
> -therefore the reason Romeo reacted so badly to hearing the term Guttersnipe, is because when he was younger, he was victim to the "kidnapping" aspect of this cult. He was kept as a house servant, and treated as a slave in some guys house, before he was finally able to get away, and then He met the Newsboys.  
> So yeah, not a fun origin story.....  
> But anyways, These cult members don't really target working class lower-class members, because they feel like they are still using them when they do the jobs that no one wants, so that's why not many of the newsboys are really targeted by these cult members.
> 
> -Anyways I hope you all enjoyed! Please don't forget to leave feedback, I was really motivated to write this chapter because i got such positive feedback on Ch1. Thank you all so much to those who commented :)))))))))


	3. Bludget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey heads home after the meeting in the Bronx

Chapter 3: Bludget  
Davey anxiously drummed his fingers on his knee as he listened to Spot and Skipper yell at each other, debating on a topic that had been lost to him several minutes ago. This was supposed to be a simple borough meeting. Skipper had been upset over something stupid, so they all came to the Bronx, other leaders had proposed a simple solution, and the meeting should have ended there. Until Spot, in his 5-foot 4-inch glory, had opened his mouth.

It was common knowledge in among the New York newsies that currently, the Bronx and Brooklyn did not get along. It had been this way ever since Davey had joined, and according to the others, it had been that way ever since Spot took over. Davey had heard rumors ranging from serious ordeals, including a full out borough war that had resulted in the previous Bronx leader’s death, to petty disputes, including a lost arm wrestling match that Spot refused to forget. Regardless of the reason, when Skipper and Spot started yelling at each other, all of the newsies gathered had sighed in exasperation and buckled down for the long haul.

By the time the yelling had subsided to childish prattle and petty insults, Jack has fallen asleep, his newsie cap perfectly balanced on his face. Race has started, and won, 4 games of poker against newsies from various boroughs, and Davey had lost 9 cents in throwaway bets.

With the lack of yelling signifying the end of the meeting, Race kicked Jack awake, much to his displeasure, Leaders shook hands, playful insults were thrown, and everyone vacated the premise in a matter of minutes. Quickly checking the watch, he had brought along, Davey internally cried at the late time, and knew he would regret staying out this late tomorrow morning. 

Stepping out into the cool night air, Jack audibly sighed, cracking a kink out of his neck due to the odd sleeping angle, and exclaimed “Man, what a borin’ meeting.” 

“You is tellin’ me.” Race replied, silently counting his winnings over the course of the night. “I’m tellin’ ya, we’d get a lot more done if someone jus’ “forgot” to tell Brooklyn next time. Spotty’s always endin’ these meeting with---“ Race stopped midsentence, mid step, and quietly muttered a quick curse. “Ah shit, I forgot Spot.”

Jack paused, and gave Race a quizzical look. “Whaddaya mean you “Forgot Spot”?” 

“I means,” Race started “I forgot I needed to talk to Spotty after this.” Race said as looked over his shoulder. Davey, following his gaze, watched the creaky old warehouse door swing open just as Spot, with his 2nd and 3rd, walk out. Spot caught Race’s eye, and silently motioned for Race to follow him.

“I’ll meet ya back at the boarding house Jackie.” Race quickly told them, as he started to follow the summons of the Brooklyn King. “Keep ya eye out for bludgets, Bronx is infamous for ‘em.” Race cryptically warned over his shoulder, and ran up to meet Spot and his subordinates.  
Davey was getting better, he really was. 

Through the vigorous (exasperated) teachings from his fellow newsies, Davey had managed to recognize most of the slang he encountered on an everyday basis. And, like most would do with a second language, he practiced with many of the newsies he had been unable to understand before (and had concluded that they had, in fact, been speaking English the whole time). So, really, he was getting better.

Apparently, he still had a long way to go. However, the term bludget was foreign. Davey cast a look at Jack, just to see him shoot Race a lazy smile.

“We ain’t gonna get jumped by bludgets so far north Racer, it’s you’s I worry about.” Jack playfully jabbed, putting his hand on Davey’s shoulder and turning him away from Spot and Race. “Don’t die!” he called over his shoulder, ignoring Race’s response.

Jack and Davey silently walked towards Manhattan, the sound of their shoes echoing down the empty street. The silence however, was soon replaced by Jack’s low humming. Although Davey had never heard that particular tune before, the style was easy to recognize.

“That’s one of Medda’s songs, isn’t it?” Davey quietly asked.

“Yeah, a new piece she’s been workin’ on.” Jack answered, pausing his humming. “Says business ain’t been to hot since the strike, decided a write a whole new show to attract people.” He said, quietly chuckling. 

“Really?” Davey rhetorically asked. “When’s she openin’”

“Told me this Saturday.” Jack absentmindedly answered. 

“Ya mean tonight?” Davey asked, nearly running into Jack when he suddenly stopped. 

“Shit, its Saturday.” Jack said. “I told Medda I would met up with her after the show. Do ya know what time it is?” Davey silently showed him the cracked watch, and was only greeted with another string of curses. “Shit Davey, I need to head towards Medda, I migh’ make it ‘n time if I run.” Without waiting for Davey’s response, he started running towards Medda’s theatre, merely calling over his shoulder that he’d “see him tomorrow” and “to look out for bludgets”

Davey hadn’t even had a chance to tell Jack he had no idea what a bludget was, before he was turning the corner, and disappearing from sight. 

Davey sighed, and decided to start heading home. If the street had been silent before, it had been comfortable. However, with the lack of “Jack” or a companion, the silent street soon turned eerie, with only the shadows dancing across brick walls to keep him company. 

Then, a piercing scream rang through his ears behind him. Davey quickly turned around, just as a woman, several years older than himself, slammed into him, sobbing. Her dress was ripped and stained, and the district smell of alcohol wafted off her person. She held onto him like a lifeline, tightly fisting his vest, loudly sobbing and blubbering.

Calmly, Davey pried the woman’s hand off his vest, and said “I can’t understand you his you’re sobbin’. Take a deep breath. What happened?”

The women lightly hiccupped, quickly wiping away her tears, attempting to compose herself. “Me—me and my husban’, we’s was headin’ home from broadway—we’s just wanted to go hom’. And my husban’—oh my husban’—please,-- ya gotta help me! My husban’-!”

“You need to tell me what happened.” Davey calmly said, even if he already had a sneaking suspicion what had happened to this women’s husband.  
“My- My husban’, we’s got mugged--- the guy--- he--- he stabbed my husban’- please you gots ta help me- my husban’-!”

Davey quickly nodded his head. Due to being a newsie, Davey had picked up basic first aid; and although it wouldn’t be a permeant solution, He might be able to stabilize this women’s husband enough to get him to a real doctor, or someone. 

“Take me to him.” Davey quickly said. Her desperate look quickly morphed into a relieved look, and she nodded head. The woman grabbed his hand and dragged him back towards a dark backroad that would probably contain the body of a dying man.

Distantly, he thought he heard someone shout his name, however the adrenaline of the situation had overridden his instinct to call back.

The alley way was dark, with barely any light making its way down the narrow hallway. The woman led him past rotting crates, and pipes, towards the back of the alley. Subconsciously, Davey wondered how this woman and her husband had gotten jumped in such a strange place, and why they had even been there in the first place. Just as the though manifested into his conscious, the woman was turning around, rusty knife in hand, and slamming him into the brick wall.

The cool metal lightly pressed into his neck, and Davey silently looked down into the woman’s eyes, who had adopted an almost smug look.  
“I’ve got to say darlin’, I really has to thank you for bein’ so willin’ to help a poor woman out. You is a good kid-“ the women smiled sweetly. “So help a woman out, would you.” She eyes turned cold, and Davey was vividly aware of the increase of pressure on his throat. “Give me anythin’ and everythin’, and I won’t kill you, ya hear.”

Davey opened his mouth to tell her that he didn’t have anything on him., unless she wanted a cracked watch that was worth next to nothing. Davey had dropped off most of today’s profits at home before heading over to the Bronx, then losing what little he had during poker, Davey had nothing to give her. 

Davey, however, did not have a chance to tell her that. Because just as Davey was opening his mouth, a dark shadow slammed into the woman, knocking her and the knife to the hard ground with a loud ‘clang’.

Davey, regaining his senses rather quickly, barely saw the outline of Race’s hat and cigar, before Race was quickly grabbing his wrist, and pulling him out of the alleyway. The two of them quickly ran down the street, just as the woman’s outraged yells echoed down the alleyway, and disappeared into the night. 

The two of them didn’t stop until they were far past central park. Race, leading the way, audibly cursing Davey out the entire time. Finally, the two slowed to a stop several blocks from the boarding house, struggling to catch their breaths after the dead sprint. Race was still out of breath, as he slapped Davey upside the head with his cap.

“Dave what the hell?” Race wheezed out. ”I told ya to do one thing. One thing Dave! I told ya to look for bludgets, and what do ya do? Ya go with a bludget! And we’s call you the smar’ one.”

Davey was still gasping for breath when he gave Race a halfhearted glare. “I—I don’t even know what a bludget is Race!”

Race’s angry expression was instantly dropped, and replaced by an understanding one. “Davey, a bludget is a thief, usually a woman, who robs people by luring ‘em down alleyways. Just—ya need to be more careful. Even if ya don’t know what a bludget is, why’d you follow some stranger into a corner?”

“’cause she said she needed help.” Davey replied, finally straightening up to look Race in the eyes. “she said that her husband got stabbed, and she needed help. Thought I would be able to help her out, wasn’t thinkin’ about possibly gettin’ mugged.”

“Of course you weren’t” Race muttered, before meeting Davey’s eyes. “Where’d Jackie run off to this time?”

“Said Medda wanted to talk to him. Opened a new show tonight.” Davey shrugged. “started headin’ towards there around 53rd street.”  
Race sighed in vexation, and said “C’mon Davey lets go. You stayin’ at the house tonight?”

Davey shook his head. “Nah, told my mother I’d be home an hour ago.” Race shot him a sly grin, which prompted Davey to let out a little laugh. 

“I’ll see ya later Davey.” Race told him, and pushed himself off the wall, giving Davey a small wave before heading towards the lodging house.

Davey lightly smiled. “See ya later Race.” He said quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys sorry its been so long, school kinda killed me these past two weeks, but i was thinking for you so don't worry!
> 
> so definitions:  
> Story: a thief, usually a woman, who robs people by luring them down alleyways  
> Actual: A female pick-pocketer who usually robbed people in alleyways
> 
> so not a lot of change here.
> 
> anyways please leave feedback if you can, I'd really appreciate it :))))


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